


Distinguished

by jellyjog



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 16:47:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18743053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyjog/pseuds/jellyjog
Summary: For a tumblr prompt requesting Obi-Wan playing with Qui-Gon's hair





	Distinguished

“Quiet Bant,” Obi-Wan regarded the nearby passenger without looking away from his task, “I’m busy.”

“You  _should_  be busy flying this ship,” Bant quipped back. “You’re the pilot of the group.” Obi-Wan let a huff escape his lips and undid the pleated hair in front of him, unsatisfied.

“You’re sixteen, Bant. You should know how to fly a ship.” He let his eyebrows knit together. “You really should wear your hair pulled back more, Master Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan added off-handedly. It really brings out your greys.” Bant huffed, and Qui-Gon let out an indignant noise and brought his hands back to feel at his own hair. Obi-Wan felt himself blushing as his master’s hands joined his own, and pushed down the childish urge to stick his tongue out at Bant when she shot him a taunting smirk.

“My  _what_? _”_ Qui-Gon interrupted, perturbed.

“Your grey hairs.” Obi-Wan stroked his hand through his master’s hair, gently easing the frizz from where the older man had mussed it. “They make you look  _distinguished_.” He gathered up a small section at the bottom of Qui-Gon’s head, ignoring Bant’s knowing chuckle as they made a jump into hyperspace. He handed the majority of the hair before him to his master with the unspoken command to hold it out of the way, and began slowly and deliberately creating a dutch braid. The style would be difficult to recreate alone, since trying to work your own hair from the bottom up meant holding your arms at an awkward angle with no break, and also placed the majority of the hair not being used directly in the way.

“They make me look  _old_ , Obi-Wan.” His master sighed and leaned back against his legs. Obi-Wan ran his hands deliberately along the man’s scalp as he selected the next section of hair to add and was rewarded with a comfortable sigh.

“Nonsense,” Obi-Wan smirked. “You already looked old.” Qui-Gon reached back and smacked at Obi-Wan’s calf chidingly.

“You should be more respectful of your elders then,  _padawan_.”

“You’re right, Master,” Obi-Wan nodded, his tone mockingly reverent as he added more hair to the dutch braid, working his way up the scalp as slowly as he thought he could get away with. “What would you have me do? Kneel at your feet? Cater to your every whim? Carry your frail old bones off the spacecraft?”

“Alright, I’m out of here. I’m sure Master Tahl has more work for me in the engine room than you two.” Bant stood from her seat, rolling her eyes very pointedly in Obi-Wan’s direction. “We should be set until it’s time to drop out of hyperspace. Try not to get into too much trouble.” She walked out of the room with a disapproving huff.

“She doesn’t want to hang around an old-timer like me,” Qui-Gon sighed, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile at his mock dejection.

“I suppose I’ll just have to be enough company for the both of us,” Obi-Wan responded, finally reaching the crown of Qui-Gon’s head and stealing the top half of the hair to twist into an elegant but loose bun. The dutch braid stuck out prominently along the back of Qui-Gon’s head, but the harshness was offset by the looseness of the rest of the style. Obi-Wan quite liked the effect. “All done, by the way.” Obi-Wan leaned back himself, stretching languidly. “And you look quite dashing, if I do say so myself.” He watched intently as Master Qui-Gon reached up to feel his styled hair, fingers tracing the braid deftly. Obi-Wan could imagine several other uses for those fingers.

“Allow me to return the favor.” Qui-Gon turned abruptly, now on his knees in front of Obi-Wan—who was trying very hard not to blush.

“You’re welcome to, Master Jinn, after you Knight me and wait a few years for me to grow it out.” The comment earned him a chuckle before Qui-Gon was reaching up and undoing his padawan braid.

“Your braid is a mess, Obi-Wan. It needs to be redone.” His Master smiled up at him as he deliberately undid the tight braiding, and Obi-Wan focused very intently on self control as he fought the urge to lean forward and kiss the man. This was a bonding moment, and it wouldn’t do good to sully it with impure thoughts. Soon though, Qui-Gon was leaning up closer in order to see the formation of the braid behind his ear as he worked, and Obi-Wan was briefly struck by their height difference. Even with Obi-Wan seated in a chair and Qui-Gon kneeling on the floor, the man was able to draw himself up face to face. It almost made Obi-Wan glad he’d never made it past 5’10.

“I always used to hate washing this patch of hair when I was a padawan.” Qui-Gon looked at him mischievously as his hand brushed along his ear and neck. “I was always worried it was going to fall out.”

“I hate undoing the braid,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I want it to be in all the time, as a symbol that I belong to you.”

“You don’t need a braid to know that you’re my padawan, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon chuckled and continued his braiding, stopping periodically to smooth out the hair in order to prevent frizz or flyaways.

“It feels nice, though.” Obi-Wan wanted to turn his head to look at his master, but knew better than to do so while the other was working. “Having a physical reminder, I mean. I know that just knowing I’m your padawan should be enough, but sometimes when I’m in doubt I can feel it and remember that you chose me.” Qui-Gon was almost to the end of the braid now. Once he had moved out of the area behind the ear it became quick work.

“I’m sorry that I don’t always express my appreciation for you, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon tied off the end of the braid with a small piece of leather. “You are all I could ask for and more.” He ran his hand thoughtfully over Obi-Wan’s braid before standing, and Obi-Wan found himself standing as well, fully aware that he was about to do something exceedingly stupid. He reached his hand up around Qui-Gon’s neck, thumb brushing slowly along the braid he had been permitted to put there. With a small tug, he angled his master’s face down so that he could push himself upwards to kiss him.

Much to Obi-Wan’s surprise, he wasn’t immediately pushed back and told off. Instead, he felt a hand slip around his waist and another reach reverently for his padawan braid as the kiss was returned. He let out a gasp that was equal parts surprise and pleasure at the development, and quickly found the gasp turning into a moan as Qui-Gon took it as an invitation to slip his tongue into his mouth. The arm around his waist tightened and pulled up, and he found himself being pressed flush against his master with his head tilted at a decidedly submissive angle as the kiss was deepened. He writhed slightly, smiling a bit to show his pleasure at the development and doing his best to egg the other man on as he moved invitingly against him. Perhaps if he just—

“And here I was, thinking you two were the picture of a perfect master-padawan team.” Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon split apart, startled as Master Tahl’s amused voice rang through the room. Obi-Wan searched his mind for any explanation at all for the elicit and decidedly immoral scene that Tahl had just walked in on, but she continued before he could settle on one. “Relax, I’m not going to turn you in to the Council or anything,” she waved her hand as she walked over to the controls. “I do however, need to double check the coordinates Bant input. Apparently the two perfectly capable pilots already in the cockpit were being unhelpful as well as obtuse. Now, which one of you is going to help the blind woman read these dials?”

“I will.” Obi-Wan shot forward immediately, giving his master a meaningful look as he moved to help check the navigation settings. They all looked fine to him and he felt a small, prideful smile touch him as he regarded Bant’s competence. Tahl clasped his shoulder amiably before leaning in close to him conspiratorially.

“I don’t care what you two do,” she stage whispered, loud enough for Qui-Gon to hear her as well. “Just don’t do it in the cockpit.”


End file.
